


Madness (Mutual Assured Destruction)

by glacis



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-31
Updated: 2010-01-31
Packaged: 2017-10-06 21:42:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glacis/pseuds/glacis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maul survives and forms an unholy alliance.  Jedi and Sith share an apprentice.  War envelops the Republic and the Empire.  And Maul wants Obi-Wan.  Badly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Madness (Mutual Assured Destruction)

_Madness (Mutual Assured Destruction) - AU of SW: Eps. 1-3 with guest appearances by characters from the novel canon._

He’d had a bad feeling about this since their first trip to Naboo.

The fracas on Tattooine had only confirmed it.

The debacle in the Council Chamber when his Master tossed him over for the Chosen One was the third gasp before he drowned.

He loved Qui-Gon like the father he’d never had, but there was no denying the fact that the man was as stubborn as it was possible for a sentient to be.  Particularly when he thought he was right.

Obi-Wan glanced over at the sulky blond boy studiously avoiding his gaze and sighed.  He had a bridge to mend there.  It wasn’t the kid’s fault.  It wasn’t as if the kid ever had a chance, or a choice, for that matter.

“How are you holding up, Anakin?” he asked quietly.

“I’m fine,” the boy instantly replied, still not looking at him.

With a wry smile and a shake of his head, Obi-Wan moved over to settle next to the boy, who was working on a piece of junked navigation equipment and doing his best to pretend Obi-Wan didn’t exist.  His hand moved toward a spanner and Obi-Wan handed it to him silently.

That game went on for awhile before Anakin began to fidget.  Having had patience pounded into his head for years by the best, Obi-Wan could out-wait glaciers melting, so one small boy was no challenge.  Eventually, Anakin set the tools down and stared up at Obi-Wan.

“Why do you hate me?” he asked plaintively.

Obi-Wan sighed, patting the small shoulder next to him gently.  “I don’t hate you, Anakin.  I said some things I wish I hadn’t, and you heard some of them, and misunderstood.”

“You said I was dangerous,” Anakin interrupted.

“And I meant to say, the potential you hold for power could be dangerous, if it couldn’t be trained properly.”

“You mean if I can’t be trained,” Anakin interrupted again.

Obi-Wan placed a finger against the boy’s lips.  “Hold your words and listen for a moment.”

He waited until Anakin nodded, then continued.  “You have lived a very difficult life, and it will be hard for you to learn and accept many of the lessons of the Jedi.  That doesn’t mean you can’t be trained.  It means it will be a long, difficult journey for you.  I disagreed with the way Master Qui-Gon went before the Council, and with how quickly he pushed to take you as Padawan, but I do NOT disagree with the fact that you must, and can, be trained.”  He paused and looked intently into the wide blue eyes staring back up at him.

“I believe that you have the potential to become a great Jedi knight,” he said solemnly.  “I also believe that you must be treated as Anakin, not as a prophesy, or the fear from others around you will be detrimental, both to you and to the Order as a whole.”

Anakin pulled Obi-Wan’s hand away from his mouth and held it tightly.  “Do you fear me?” he asked seriously.

“No,” Obi-Wan answered quietly.  “I fear for you.”

“Will you help me?”  The hostility had faded from Anakin’s expression, leaving behind a lost little boy.

“Every way I can,” Obi-Wan promised him.

The conversation eased the way for them to eventually become friends, and Obi-Wan felt better for it.  At least one relationship was mended.  The other was beyond strained.

Qui-Gon had never been particularly supportive of Obi-Wan’s precognitive visions, fuzzy as they were.  He was prone to telling Obi-Wan to live in the moment and let the future take care of itself.  That worked quite well for someone in touch with the Living Force and weak in the Unifying Force.  As Obi-Wan was strong in the Unifying Force, it was equivalent to telling a man to ignore the speeder heading directly at him with the throttle full open.

After a great deal of meditation and several aborted attempts to warn Qui-Gon about his bad feeling, all of which ended in Qui-Gon assuring Obi-Wan that he was quite sure Obi-Wan was up to facing any challenge he met (a fact Obi-Wan was less sure about, but which was a moot point, as it wasn’t what Obi-Wan was trying to warn against anyway), Obi-Wan gave up.

Instead, he took a page from Master Yoda’s book, and he got sneaky.

He spent time with Anakin, meditated with his Master, and followed the vague but increasingly urgent warnings from the Force.  Determined to do whatever he could to alleviate the strain on his partnership with his Master, especially if this would be their last mission as a team, Obi-Wan watched Qui-Gon like a hawk, covering his back more thoroughly than the man’s own robe.

It was a good thing.

The Sith came at them like a specter from a nightmare.  For the first time in years, Qui-Gon treated Obi-Wan like a Padawan to be protected rather than a brother-in-arms, but Obi-Wan didn’t let him get away with it.  Near the end of the fight, as both Jedi were tiring, Obi-Wan lost his footing.  As he pulled himself up onto the walkway to rejoin the fight, he saw his Master pulling too far ahead of him, following the Sith into an area where alternating red energy fields segmented the corridor.

Following his gut instinct, Obi-Wan ran to catch up.  He also reached out with a tendril of the Force, simultaneously pushing the Sith away as hard as he could and pulling Qui-Gon back into range.

An energy field sprang up, separating the two Jedi from the prowling Sith.  Breathing hard, Qui-Gon glared down at Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan ignored him, concentrating on the Sith, and on regulating his own short breath.

“What were you thinking?” Qui-Gon hissed, when he could speak.

“That we will only take this creature as a team, and I’m not quite ready to lose you,” Obi-Wan answered absently, letting the Force guide his words as he locked eyes with the Sith.

Qui-Gon muttered under his breath, “I am not so far gone as that.”

“You would have been,” Obi-Wan broke in, then leaned forward.

The creature’s eyes were blazing yellow.  Locked on his, looking at him so intently, as if he could read Obi-Wan’s soul.  Or pull it out from him.  Those eyes were… hypnotic.  Peripherally, he was aware that the Sith had stopped pacing and now stood, stock-still, on the other side of the energy field, staring as intensely at him as Obi-Wan stared back.  He felt a niggling touch on his mind, slick and fluid, heavy and unexpectedly intimate, and gasped, pulling back physically as well as mentally.

The Sith smiled at him.

The energy field came down.

Qui-Gon leapt forward, ‘saber sweeping high.  An instant later, almost an instant too late, Obi-Wan sprang forward as well, ‘saber sweeping low.  In time to see the Sith, whirling like a dervish, nearly take off Qui-Gon’s head with a powerful double-handed strike.

Obi-Wan flipped to the side to avoid being knocked over by Qui-Gon as the strength behind the strike brought Qui-Gon to his knees.  Flowing with the Force, as if he could see a different battle washing over this one, Obi-Wan blocked the back-slash of the Sith’s lightstaff a centimeter before it would have disemboweled Qui-Gon.

His ‘saber slid up the crimson blade with an ear-shredding shriek, glancing off the hilt at such an angle that it cut through the controls and nearly took the Sith’s hand off as well.  The Sith twisted and fell back, now armed with a single-bladed ‘saber and a burn from his wrist to his shoulder.

Pressing his attack, Obi-Wan threw himself at the Sith, blades tangling as they strained against one another.  The nightmarish black and red face was close enough for Obi-Wan to feel the creature’s breath on his cheek as they struggled.  The Sith hissed at Obi-Wan and Obi-Wan felt his breath catch in his chest.  For an instant it was only the two of them, the push of their bodies against one another, a stalemate that stretched on forever.

Then a green-white ‘saber blade slashed beside them, jolting the Sith’s blade and giving Obi-Wan the space he needed to disengage.  He fell back with a shuddering breath and Qui-Gon pressed forward.

The next few moments were forever a blur in Obi-Wan’s memory.  He heard the Sith snarl, heard Qui-Gon growl, then there was a sizzling sound, and Qui-Gon staggered back, his ‘saber falling as he clutched his stomach with his free hand.  Obi-Wan brought his ‘saber up instinctively to stop the Sith’s killing blow before it could strike Qui-Gon’s chest, then Obi-Wan threw his shoulder into the Sith’s body in a risky move that put him within the Sith’s grasp, Obi-Wan’s entire body sliding under the Sith’s guard.

The advantage of the move was that it completely blocked the creature’s path to the wounded Qui-Gon, and if the Sith tried to strike Obi-Wan with his ‘saber he’d end up hitting himself as well.

The disadvantage was that it gave the Sith a good hold of Obi-Wan, and when the Sith fell backward off the platform into the central well, he took Obi-Wan with him.

Struggling frantically, Obi-Wan slammed his head back into the Sith’s face, hearing a crunch and feeling as if he’d been spiked when one of the horns pierced the back of his head, fracturing his skull.  At the same time, he fought to free himself, punching backward with both elbows into the Sith’s belly then ducking his head down to bite the Sith’s forearm as hard as he could through the leather.

It worked.  The iron-hard arms wrapped around him loosened just enough for Obi-Wan to exert Force and leap away, clutching onto the side of the shaft with all his strength.  Force tendrils wound around him, trying to hold on, or perhaps pull him down as well, but he fought them off desperately.

With the last of his strength, Obi-Wan gathered the Force and threw himself up and over the edge of the well.  He rolled over to Qui-Gon, dizzy and nauseous, nearly blinded with pain, but still able to move.  Qui-Gon lay curled on the walkway, hands clutching his belly, stained to the wrist, red with blood.

Obi-Wan scrambled to his Master’s side and placed his own hands over Qui-Gon’s, channeling energy the best he could in his weakened state.  He looked for his lightsaber but couldn’t find it.  One shaking hand reached for the comm. unit on his belt.  The last thing he remembered was calling for help, and Panaka’s blessed voice telling him they were on their way.

He woke up in the infirmary.  Rolling his head to the side, he saw Qui-Gon suspended in a bacta tank, and Anakin, seated beside his bed, one hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder, the other resting against the side of the tank.  Force energy flowed steadily through the boy into both himself and his master, and Obi-Wan smiled his thanks before letting himself fall into a healing sleep.

 

The Jedi were smarter than he’d expected.

The little one didn’t let the big one outrun him; his strategy to divide and slaughter failed.  Even then, he had the skill and rage to defeat them, had not the little one shown nearly as much rage as he felt… no, not rage… power, but of a different sort than Maul had ever known.

He’d been caught, in those green eyes, the light shining through them blinding even through the red energy field, even through his own need to kill.  It sang to him, told him lies, made him promises, unlike any he’d heard before.  It distracted him.

The big one was slower and easier to hit, so Maul had taken him down first, but before he could deliver the killing blow he’d found himself with an armful of Jedi.  The little one moved fast, as fast as Maul himself, and his distraction had nearly been his death.

He couldn’t see anything but the little Jedi’s face, close enough to bite, couldn’t feel anything but the weight and fire of the little Jedi’s body against his, and the little Jedi wasn’t so little when he wasn’t measured next to his Wookie-sized Master… was as big as Maul, and nearly as strong, and even more desperate.

He couldn’t get a clear target, couldn’t untangle his hands from the Jedi’s robes, couldn’t force all that distracting Light away from his face, then pain struck and they were falling… they were falling and the Jedi was a whirlwind of force and movement.  Pain in Maul’s face and throbbing pain in his impacted horn, pain in his abdomen and groin and chest from fists and elbows and shoulders, pain in his shins from feet kicking back and sharp sudden pain in his arm where the Jedi bit him… Bit him!  What kind of Jedi was it to fight like a Sith?

Then there was nothing but air, and a confusion of Force, and Light leaving him.

Survival instincts honed since memory began kicked in and propelled him to the side of the exhaust shaft moments before it would have been too late, before his body would have been caught in the gravity well of the main generator and turned into energy to fuel this Jedi-infested planet’s defense system.  Maul made himself concentrate through the pain tearing his head apart and caught on with everything in him, slowing his descent and curving it until he landed in a heap in one of the maintenance access ports along the side of the shaft.

Time spread out thinly for too long, and when he came back to consciousness he had a fracture in his skull surrounding his forward left horn, a broken nose, two broken ribs, a cracked kneecap, and a lightsaber in each hand.  One, his own, in need of rebuilding and a new case; one, the Jedi’s, tingling against the skin of his palm.

It should have burned.

His injuries were minor given his training and background, and he fought through the pain, sliding like a shadow through the underground maze of tunnels and sewage system and water pipes and electricity conduit shafts until he was well away from the city.  Upon reaching his craft, he spent a necessary few hours with bacta and the healing droid, not calling on the Darkness until absolutely necessary.  For when he did, his Master would require answers, and none he had would satisfy.

Hiding, and licking his wounds, he set in motion a plan he’d been working on for years.  The end had come, and it was time.

His Master didn’t accept failure, and by surviving without killing the Jedi, Maul had failed.  His master did not know, however, how thorough Maul’s intelligence was on his master’s plans.  The way of the Sith was one of pain to strength to conquest, and had in the past always required two.

The past would not be Maul’s future.

It was the work of mere hours to sabotage his current vessel, with its full complement of tracking devices, so that it destructed just outside Naboo’s atmosphere, and steal a clean unregistered craft from the Naboo space pilot reserve armory.  The place was in disarray and confusion in the aftermath of battle and he made sure no one lived to tell of his theft.  Once secure and away from Naboo, Maul made his move.

Instead of setting course for Strau IV, the planet his master called the shadow palace, Maul headed for Wichrin, further along the Outer Rim.  The three days hyperspace travel was used for further healing and putting the final touch to the details of his plan.

The fact that much of it was spend recalling the feel of the Jedi against him, the lure of the Light in his eyes, was put aside to be considered later.  As was the fact that he kept the Jedi’s lightsaber, stroking it with fingertips numb from tingling, as if it were a phantom limb, some pleasure-giving device of his own, of the Light’s devising.  One that should not have given him pleasure.

A pleasure he was bound to pursue.

But those thoughts would have to wait.  First he must ensure his own survival, and the death of his master.  Once his plan was in motion, and he was sure he would survive the transfer of power, then and only then would he turn his attention to his Jedi.

 

The summons came not from Coruscant, as he’d expected, but from a near-lifeless rock even the Hutts didn’t want, out in the Outer Rim.  Xanatos stared at the flashing text on his data pad for a long moment before opening the message.

It took him nearly an hour to decrypt it.  When he did, he found himself laughing.

A bit less than a year before, during a rare appearance at the seat of Republic power, he’d been approached by the Senator from Naboo.  An unassuming man with a mild smile and fluttering hands.  The man wore power like a dark cloak, and Xanatos had been amazed at how blind the Jedi were to it, until he recognized the strength of shielding that went into maintaining that invisibility.

The Senator had a business proposition for him.  Straightforward and to the point.  Xanatos would cooperate with certain members of the Trade Federation, the Commerce Guild, and the Techno Union:  the Senator, once his power base was consolidated, would deliver one Master Qui-Gon Jinn to a place of Xanatos’ choosing, complete with Force dampening collar and manacles.  Intrigued, Xanatos agreed.

Less than a ten-day later he’d unknotted the puzzle of that dark power, and returned to Palpatine, the Sith Lord, with a counter-proposal.

He would do everything in his not-inconsiderable power to strengthen and foster the Chancellor’s power, and in return, he would stand at the Sith’s side and destroy the Jedi completely.

Of course, both he and the Sith lied.  And, of course, the Sith said yes.

During his apprenticeship, at a distance as it had been since the Senator and the businessman couldn’t be seen in public together, Xanatos had known there was another player.  All his intelligence sources came up blank when he tried to find out more.

Until now.

The Sith’s apprentice had come to him.

His proposition was even more interesting than Palpatine’s.  Xanatos sent a single word affirmation and sat back to wait for coordinates.  Within a few minutes he had them.

This… would be interesting.

As he piloted his single-man cruiser through hyperspace toward the rendezvous point, Xanatos thought about his options.  Over time, his determination to kill Qui-Gon had calmed, until he could see through his killing lust to the root emotion below it.

He didn’t want Qui-Gon dead.  He wanted Qui-Gon.  Full stop.

Oh, he would enjoy exacting payment from his former master for the pain he himself had undergone, but his fascination with Qui-Gon hadn’t changed since he’d hit puberty.  He wanted Qui-Gon under his control, under his command, under him in bed.  He would not have that satisfaction if he continued with his agreement with the Senator.

Besides, he didn’t trust the Sith Lord.  Subordination did not come naturally to Xanatos, and he didn’t believe the Sith would allow him to be anything but a subordinate.  And while he had no problem killing, he honestly didn’t think he was strong enough to kill the Sith

Not on his own.

Coming smoothly out of hyperspace, he waited patiently for acknowledgment from the ship waiting for him at the predetermined coordinates.  A single beep from his comm. unit and he looked up to see a face from a nightmare staring down at him.

The Sith apprentice had blazing red-ringed yellow eyes, terrifying red and black tattoos covering every inch of his skin, and a crown of horns jutting from his naked skull, as well as horns protruding from his temples and the top of his skull.  His black robes seemed to absorb the light, until all Xanatos could see were those eyes.

“My name is Maul,” the demon said softly.

Xanatos fought to maintain his composure.  “I’d say it’s a pleasure, but for the moment, I’m reserving judgment,” he finally said.

Maul smiled, rendering his face even more frightening.  “The results of our meeting will be mutually beneficial.”

“Or?” Xanatos prompted.

“You have no alternative,” Maul said calmly.

Before Xanatos could challenge him on that assumption, or launch weapons and run, Maul continued.

“You and I have similar goals, and have until now served the same master.  His goals are no longer mine, and are no longer yours.”

Maul paused, and Xanatos slowly nodded.  He didn’t yet know how much Maul knew, but to a point, he was correct.  Maul’s smile, or snarl, it was hard to tell the difference, grew.

“I propose a change in tradition.  I do not seek an apprentice.  I seek a partner.”

Xanatos leaned forward slightly.  “I’m listening.”

“Our master has begun the process of building an empire, but his methods are too slow, bound to fail, as they rely on a single presence.  He cannot be effective if he must remain in public on Coruscant at all times.  He grows weak, as well.”

“How so?” Xanatos pressed.

“His attention is split too many ways.  He has lost his focus.  If he had not, I would be dead already.”  Maul was completely calm.

Xanatos took a deep breath.  “What’s your plan?”

“For obvious reasons, I could not slay him and take his place.”

Biting his lip to restrain a smirk, Xanatos nodded agreement.

“You, however, would do well in the Senate, as the public face of our operation.”

“How would I take his place?”

“You wouldn’t,” Maul told him.  “You would work behind the scenes and, when the timing is right, step into the seat of power.”

“How do we stop the Jedi from blocking me?”  There was no way the Council would sit back and let a rogue take a seat in the Senate.

“They would have no choice.  For you would have the backing of those elements the Republic cannot control.  The Chancellor will have no choice.”

Better and better, Xanatos thought.  “What would you be doing while I was gaining this power?”

“Fomenting unrest in the Outer Rim as you exploit the weakness of the Republic, ensuring that the strength of an Empire is necessary to survive.  Then creating that empire.”

“I like the way you think.”

A partnership was born.  And the galaxy began the controlled descent into madness.

 

Everything was coming together as it should.  The vote to replace Valorum would be in place in a few days; his new apprentice was on his way to Coruscant to take his place at his side; Maul would be appropriately punished for his failure then sent on to his final mission, putting an end to Jinn and Kenobi, taking the first real steps toward destruction of the Jedi Order.

Palpatine settled into his soft black-hide chair and turned to look over the lights of Coruscant.  Soon, soon those lights would be his.  Decades of planning, of manipulation, murder, pain released and inflicted, had led to this day… the beginning of their end, and his beginning.

The Sith would take back their place of power, and he would lead for all to see, and to fear.

He was still smiling at the dreams of days of glory as he rose and walked toward the antechamber.  His droid attendant met him at the door.  Stifling his impatience, he nodded permission for it to speak.

“Your Pardon, Senator Palpatine.  Muma from the Toydarian Trade Association is petitioning your presence.”

Muma.  He’d never heard of him, but given his stated representation, he might well be one of the Nemoidians’ spies, come with a report.  Reining in his impatience with practiced ease, Palpatine smiled.

“By all means,” he invited, and the droid ushered in the wizened trader.

The being was ancient, gnarled muzzle, bent wings and clawed forepaws showing his age.  Palpatine let the last of his suspicion rest; this one was no threat even if he wasn’t an ally.  He allowed his smile to broaden.

“How may I provide assistance, Muma?”  He injected exactly enough courtesy to avoid offense and equally as much hauteur to avoid any appearance of servility.

“I bring word from mutual friends,” Muma rasped at him, his voice barely bridging the meter between them.

Palpatine stepped forward and reached to accept the data pad, scanning it for threat before he touched it.  It was clean.  A further push of the Force into the being that held it did little good, but then, as most Toydarians were Force-resistant, that wasn’t surprising.  What he did find was completely harmless.

The hand holding the data pad out to him was not.

A hair-thin needle pricked his wrist directly above his palm, skidding into the vein with a precision that bespoke years of experience.  Palpatine didn’t feel the injection, didn’t feel the subtle wrongness as it spread swiftly through his system through his blood vessels.  By the time the infusion it carried began to work, it was too late for him to fight the poison.

A poison concocted specifically for him.

The Toydarian assassin watched calmly, backing up to a safe distance as Palpatine froze in place then curled slowly forward, brain function ceasing even as his heart faltered.  At the instant of death, as his Force remnants gathered to attack, the secondary organism within the poison activated, and the corpse imploded, eaten from within, body and what passed for a soul completely destroyed.

Maul and Xanatos were nothing if not thorough.  Maul provided the weapon; Xanatos provided the means of delivery.  They were an efficient team, as their first joint venture proved.

Of course, had they not been, they would both have been killed, rendering the point moot.

Muma holocaptured the death and transmitted it for proof.  Then he placed a single high-intensity explosive in the center of the grisly remains and calmly flew out the door.

“Have a pleasant day,” the droid wished him as he left.

The explosion behind him ensured that he would, indeed.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t aware of the rest of the Sith Lords’ plan, or he wouldn’t have been quite as cheerful.

Cleanup was never easy on the disposable ones.

“The Council deems you worthy.  Rise and take your place in the brotherhood of Knights, Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

It was less of a battle to retain his composure than he’d thought it would be, all things considered.  Qui-Gon was there to cut and claim his braid, even if he was still leaning on a walking staff and lean enough to pass for a living skeleton.  Peace radiated from him, and Obi-Wan strove to reflect that peace.

Yoda beamed at him, ears perked up and large eyes wrinkled in an unusual smile.  “Proud we are of you, Knight Kenobi,” he said, and Obi-Wan had the impression he spoke once for the Council and twice for himself.  He smiled back, and let it go.

For a moment, inside that room, as he left one phase of his life behind and faced the next, all was well with his world.

Then he felt a strange disturbance in the Force, as if a dark cloud had rippled through him.  Glancing around he saw the Council members react as well, and Qui-Gon drew a sharp breath.  An instant later the ground rocked slightly under their feet.  Obi-Wan beat Mace to the window by a fraction of a second.

There, a short distance away.  Black smoke billowed from the side of the Senate building.

“That’s where the Naboo offices are,” he reported absently.

“First assignment,” Mace answered swiftly.  “Let’s go find out what’s going on.”

They turned to the door and passed Qui-Gon on the way out.  “And you stay here!” Mace ordered sternly.

From the look on his former Master’s face, it didn’t set well; looked like he’d bitten unawares into a bitter fruit.  But he was in no shape for combat, in fact, would never be again.  The Sith had nearly gutted him with that last strike, the end of his blade nicking Qui-Gon’s spinal column, and it was a miracle the man was still alive and somewhat mobile.  Obi-Wan threw him an understanding look over his shoulder then was gone.

The Senate was in an uproar.  Security forces and droids buzzed everywhere; Senators were in lockdown in their offices.  Even Jedi robes and lightsabers didn’t get Mace and Obi-Wan automatic entry.  They were retina-scanned and DNA verified before the security system would allow them in the building.

Once inside, Mace split off to speak with the head of security while Obi-Wan headed for the site of the worst damage.  He’d been right; the Naboo offices were completely destroyed.  The explosion had been contained within the core office of Senator Palpatine, who was missing, presumed dead.  Along with him were over a dozen support staff and three visiting dignitaries.

Obi-Wan was relieved to discover Padme Amidala wasn’t one of the missing or dead.  He didn’t want to have to tell little Anakin his friend was gone.  As it was, Jar Jar and two other Gungan representatives to the Naboo delegation were also killed in the blast.  Obi-Wan had been irritated by the amphibian but not enough to wish his death.  It was a loss for Jar Jar’s family, and Qui-Gon no doubt would mourn.

Senate Investigative Services were already on site, and after an initial report of ‘no findings yet’ Obi-Wan left them to their forensic work, busying himself with checking the surrounding area for any further signs of terrorist activity.  As he cleared the last outlying chamber of suspicion, finding no further explosive devices, Mace came up to him.

“Find anything?” he asked.

“No other threats in the area,” Obi-Wan reported.  “The lead investigator had no information for me earlier.  I was on my way for an update now.  Did you get anything from the Security Chief?”

“The only unusual entry was a Toydarian merchant representative that met with Senator Palpatine before the explosion.  Security holovids show the man handing the Senator a data pad.  It looks like Palpatine had a seizure, perhaps brought on by a substance on the pad.  He collapsed, the Toydarian placed an unknown device on the Senator’s body, then left.  Seconds later the vid fuzzes out.  Time stamp confirms that was the moment of explosion.”

“Did you recognize the device?”

“Never seen anything like it,” Mace admitted.

“How about the Toydarian?” Obi-Wan threw out, admittedly grasping at a straw but one never knew.

Before Mace could answer, the lead investigator, a solemn-looking Chagrian, joined their conversation.  “This him?” he asked, holding up a flat holodisk showing close-up details of the face of an aged Toydarian.  From the wide staring eyes and the blood dried around its nostrils and muzzle, it was recently deceased.

“That was him,” Mace sighed.

“Found him in a garbage dump in Sector Eighty.”

Less than a kilometer away.  That was fast.  Mace and Obi-Wan looked at one another then turned back to the lead investigator.  They were in for a very long night, so they might as well get started.

 

Qui-Gon stayed in the Council Chamber for an hour or so after Obi-Wan so precipitously left his knighting ceremony.  His fingers slid over the long braid now coiled in his belt.  Watching Yoda and Adi Gallia coordinate the containment of the threat to the Senate, he allowed his memory to wander.

The last moments of the fight with the Sith on Naboo were blurry.  He remembered Obi-Wan fighting desperately after he himself had been wounded too severely to finish the battle.  The moment the Sith and Obi-Wan stumbled over the edge into the gravity well had nearly finished what the Sith’s ‘saber had started.  Despair and denial fought in him, weakening him further, until somehow, miraculously, Obi-Wan was there, blood on his face, hands shaking, pouring Force energy into him.  Qui-Gon wanted to tell him to stop, to save himself, to care for his own serious injuries, but he couldn’t find his words, couldn’t gather the strength to fight his own battle.

Obi-Wan proved his worth, indeed, that day.  He saved Qui-Gon’s life, defeated a Sith, and finished the duties his master could not.  Qui-Gon had no qualms about recommending Obi-Wan for Knighthood, once the healers finally let him out of the bacta tank.

What he hadn’t expected was that their final mission as a team would be his last.

When the healers told him that he’d regained as much range of motion as he would ever again enjoy, he was stunned.  He’d meditated on it for hours, trying to get direction, find out what the next move should be.  There was so much left undone.  His top priority, now that Obi-Wan’s training was complete, was to ensure Anakin was trained.

To his shock, Obi-Wan flatly refused to do it.

“Do you honestly think he’s that much of a threat?” Qui-Gon asked, after trying for hours to change his former Padawan’s mind.

“I think he’s too powerful not to train,” Obi-Wan admitted, “and there is no darkness in the boy, now.  But I am NOT the master for him.”  When Qui-Gon opened his mouth to respond, Obi-Wan raised a hand to stop him.  “He will need intensive training to catch him up on the years he missed.  He needs patience, stability, and someone who wholeheartedly supports him, on his side, advocating for him.  You are that master.”

Qui-Gon gestured with his walking stick, sorely tempted to whack Obi-Wan on the shins for his obstinacy, understanding for the first time why Yoda spent so much time smacking people.  “I’m not in the best position to-“

Obi-Wan interrupted.  “Who better?  You will be here, at the Temple, where you can be available to him when he needs you.  He needs that, more than he needs to try to learn what it is to be a Jedi while running from planet to planet following me around.”

“It worked well with you,” Qui-Gon pointed out.

“I was raised from the crèche to know who I was and what I would become.  Qui-Gon, the boy has spent his entire life as a slave!  He needs to learn who HE is, before he learns who he may become.  And you’re the best teacher Anakin could have for that journey.”

“Wise, your student has become,” Yoda’s voice came from the doorway.  “Listen well, you should.”

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan were both started, not having heard the door chime, nor realized they had company.

“You agree with this, then, Master?” Qui-Gon asked skeptically.  “I thought you didn’t want the boy to be trained.”

Yoda lowered an ear and glared at him.  “Throw my words at me, you will not, cheeky child.  Right, Obi-Wan is.  Trained, Anakin Skywalker must be.  Yours, this responsibility is, Qui-Gon.”

That settled that.

Anakin hadn’t seemed to mind.  If anything, he seemed relieved.  He took well to classes, but preferred to spend his time with Qui-Gon, asking endless questions, listening with rapt absorption to endless stories.  For the first time, Qui-Gon discovered what it meant to be a teacher by design rather than by example, and he found he enjoyed it.

Not that he didn’t miss going off-world.

And not that he didn’t miss Obi-Wan.

But Anakin was a bright lad, eager to please, and full of potential.  Qui-Gon was content.

Not that he had much choice.

 

The next few years were oddly calm, a routine of classes and discovery for Anakin, of teaching and rediscovering limitations for Qui-Gon, and the blossoming of Obi-Wan’s career.  He’d learned well from Qui-Gon, but once he was set loose on his own, his style changed to reflect his personality.  He was adept at negotiation, a stickler for detail with a warm personal style that drew beings in and created goodwill that lasted long after he left the negotiating table.

It was a good thing.  The Republic was in crisis.  Unexpected figures had risen to positions of power.  A schism was in the making.

 

Anakin was a gangly fifteen year old when Obi-Wan next got a chance to spend some off-duty time at the Temple, without being stuck in a bacta tank.  It had been a tough six years, with barely time to catch his breath and regain his strength before being tossed back out into the fray.  The opportunity to spend a few weeks in quiet meditation and lively debate with Qui-Gon, to spar and tease Anakin, to sleep in the same clean warm bed for more than two days in a row, was a blessing.

Or so he thought, until he arrived at Qui-Gon’s quarters for mid-day meal.  Qui-Gon wasn’t there, but Anakin was, and he looked upset.

“Obi-Wan!” he exclaimed, happiness driving the shadow from his face for a moment.  “When did you get in?”

“Just a while ago, long enough to drop off my report and head here.  The Council’s in session so I’m spared that for now.”  He grinned at Anakin and the boy grinned back, but dropped back into a preoccupied frown much too soon.

As Obi-Wan wandered over to the couch and sat down, Anakin hovered.  “Would you like some tea?  Or maybe a cold drink?  Are you hungry?”

Obi-Wan patted the cushion next to him.  “I’m fine, and you’re obviously not.  Sit, Anakin.  Talk to me.  What’s got you all wound up?”

With a heavy sigh, Anakin plopped down gracelessly next to him.  “It’s Master Qui-Gon.”

“Is he sick?” Obi-Wan interjected, worried.

“No, he’s okay, well, he’s not physically having problems…”  He sighed again and blurted out, “Did you know about Xanatos?”

Obi-Wan winced.  “Some.  He was Qui-Gon’s Padawan before me.  Failed his trials, turned his back on the order, had a big fight with Qui-Gon… Master never talked about him, but the scuttlebutt around the time of my Choosing was that Qui-Gon didn’t want to take another Padawan for fear he’d have another failure on his hands.  He turned me down at first: in fact, I was on my way to Bandomeer to become a farmer when the Force decided it had other plans for us.”

Anakin, having heard the tale of Obi-Wan’s adventures before, nodded.  “Well, he’s surfaced.”

“That’s not good news,” Obi-Wan said slowly.  “Has he approached Qui-Gon?”

“Nope,” Anakin shrugged, “but he hasn’t had to.  You know the new Senate seat that was created for the Outer Worlds Federation?”

Obi-Wan nodded.  It had been quite a stir a year or so ago, when several of the non-Republic worlds banded together and formed a Federation, supposedly to protect their interests and boost their bargaining power in dealings with the Republic.  In a gesture of diplomatic good faith, Chancellor Valorum had proposed, and the Senate approved, a seat at the Great Hall for the new Federation.

“He’s their Senator,” Anakin told him baldly.

“Oh, that’s not good,” Obi-Wan winced.  “How did Qui-Gon take it?  And why didn’t he say anything to me about it?”  Not that he’d expect much; since going out on his own, he and his former Master hadn’t kept in contact as much as he’d have liked, but as busy as they’d both been, that wasn’t all that surprising.

“You were undercover on Mirial, then you were stuck in the Healers’ Ward at the Temple on Jorval.  This is the first time we’ve had a chance to talk to you in months.”

“Good point.  And it’s probably not something he’d want to leave in a message.”

“He’s been meditating a lot.  So far I don’t think they’ve spoken, but I know Master saw him, a couple days ago at the Senate when he was meeting the Chancellor.  He was really quiet when he got home.”  Anakin paused, then added softly, “I’m worried about him.”

Obi-Wan patted the boy’s shoulder comfortingly.  “He’s a strong man, but sometimes the past can haunt you.  Just do what you can, listen if he decides to speak on it.  Your presence is no doubt a comfort to him.”

“Do you think so?”  For the first time in years, the uncertain little boy shone out of Anakin’s eyes.

Going on instinct, Obi-Wan gathered Anakin up in a hug, and whispered in his ear, “I know so.”

Anakin hugged him back with all his strength.  When he sat back, Obi-Wan was pleased to see the shadows in his expression had lessened.

“You know, tea does sound good, come to think on it.”

They were putting the mid-day meal on the table when Qui-Gon came in.  He looked tired and frustrated, but his face lit up on seeing Obi-Wan and Anakin.

“You weren’t set to arrive for another three days, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon smiled as he and Obi-Wan clasped hands.

“Talked my way onto a Correllian freighter and hopped it when I got the chance,” Obi-Wan admitted.

As they settled down at the table to eat, Obi-Wan took the wildcat by the tail and said quietly, “I hear a new Senator’s been seated.”

Qui-Gon glanced over at Anakin, who stared at his plate, cheeks turning red in a blush.  Qui-Gon chuckled, surprising the boy into looking up.  “Didn’t take long for the news of Xanatos’ return to make it to your ears.”

“Better forewarned than surprised,” Obi-Wan quipped.

Qui-Gon slanted him a look, and he found himself blushing a little as well.  Anakin shared a commiserating glance with him.

“Yes, he’s here.  He’s been keeping a low profile, though.  Very clean hands, and believe me, I’ve looked.”

“How are you dealing with it?” Obi-Wan pressed.

Anakin looked at him like he was insane.  Obi-Wan shrugged.  Better to have it out in the open so it could be dealt with than have it remain a large white Proboscidea in the room that everyone pretended didn’t exist.

“I’m releasing my frustration into the Force,” Qui-Gon informed him through gritted teeth.

“Looks like that’s working well for you,” Obi-Wan observed.

Anakin snorted juice through his nose, and Knight and Master watched with interest as the Padawan mopped his face, the table, and his tunic, while attempting to disappear.

“Xanatos is not the current cause of my frustration,” Qui-Gon admitted.

“What now?” Anakin asked involuntarily.

“I have been installed, over my protestations, as the newest member of the Council.”

Anakin was too busy gaping to say anything.  Obi-Wan managed to hold it for a breath, but then he was laughing too hard to say anything.

Conversation degenerated from there.

Thinking on it a few days later as he sparred with Anakin in one of the larger training salles, Obi-Wan decided it was one of the most enjoyable leaves he’d ever spent.  Unfortunately, a situation blew up on Rodia, and once again, it was cut short.

Such was the story of his life.  Sometimes, being the best was a tiresome business.

 

As chaos grew steadily from the fringes of the Republic toward the center, Obi-Wan was a beacon for the Jedi, the best ambassador they could have put forward

When war began, Obi-Wan added military strategy to his political negotiation prowess.  At the head of divisions of the Droid army, he did his utmost to protect and defend the Republic from the Separatists and their clone forces.

But events were bigger than any one man, and the partnership in shadows had reached places no Jedi could expect.

 

By the age of ten, Anakin had seen more of the seamier side of life and lived through more hardship than most Jedi ever knew.  By the age of twenty one, he’d lived over half his life at the Temple, and was fully cognizant of the difference between an observer and a participant.  He’d worked harder than anyone his age, to justify Qui-Gon Jinn’s faith in him, Obi-Wan Kenobi’s friendship with him, and to fulfill his own potential.

It galled him that, after a decade under the Council’s closest scrutiny, they still didn’t trust him.

They didn’t realize he could feel it.  He’d felt their fear and distrust when he first went before them, but was still a child, for all his years as a slave surviving at others’ whims.  His own need to prove himself had convinced him they would come around.  They would see how much he wanted to become a Jedi, and they would believe Master Qui-Gon, and it would all work out.

Well, Obi-Wan had come around.  Pretty quickly, too.  And Obi-Wan had always been honest with him.  From the outset, he’d told Anakin it wasn’t himself Obi-Wan feared, but his strength in the Force.  As time went on and they became friends, that fear had waned until Anakin felt nothing but affection, encouragement, and occasionally friendly frustration from Obi-Wan.  It was a good match to the fatherly love and trust he got from Qui-Gon.

The Council still feared him.  They’d just never had the courage to admit it.  Instead they shoved their fear and their distrust onto Anakin, expecting failure, being suspicious of success, and always, always watching him.

Yoda was the only one who came close to trusting him, and it wasn’t because of Anakin.  It was because he loved Qui-Gon and hoped, for Qui-Gon’s sake, that Anakin wouldn’t fall.  But still, in the shadows underlying his gaze every time he looked at Anakin, Anakin could see the expectation of failure in Yoda’s eyes.

None of the others had even a hope that he would become a decent Jedi.  Or any kind of Jedi at all.  Windu was the worst, but they all had it; that scared feeling that Anakin was Sith-incarnate and it was only a matter of time before he showed his true colors.

As the years went by, and he saw less of Obi-Wan, and saw the toll Qui-Gon’s constant battle with the rest of the Council over Anakin took on his health, it twisted the knife in Anakin’s soul.  How dare they?  How dare they take the two best examples of Jedi there were, and destroy them?

How dare they run Obi-Wan from mission to mission, with barely a pause to patch him together when yet another hostile group hurt him, while other Jedi barely left the Temple, never putting their lives on the line yet being held up as examples to Anakin?  And how dare they take Master Qui-Gon and better at his defenses, constantly, until he was almost too tired to fight any more?

Everything Anakin saw of the two men he admired made him long to be a Jedi.  Everything he saw of the rest of the Jedi leadership made him want to throw it all over and become a pod-racer back on Tattooine.

It wasn’t surprising that he didn’t recognize seduction when it found him, just as he never recognized his own seething anger as the main cause of the Council’s lingering distrust.  As far as Anakin was concerned, the Council had damned him as a child before they ever gave him the chance, and they would never accept him, no matter how well he did in his training.

The first time he met Xanatos was at a Galactic Senate function, trailing in Qui-Gon’s wake as his master represented the Jedi in his own inimitable way.  It was the first Council duty Qui-Gon had undertaken, and much as Anakin knew he was bored out of his skull, Qui-Gon executed it with the perfect calm and dignity of the consummate Jedi Master.

Until Xanatos walked up and said, “Hello, Qui-Gon,” in a low voice that sounded like an invitation to sin.

Qui-Gon froze for a bare instant before he turned to face his failed Padawan.  Anakin was astonished to see that Qui-Gon’s hand shook, almost imperceptibly, as he placed his glass on the table before folding his arms and hiding his hands in his sleeves.

Anakin missed the first part of the conversation, in blank shock from the most blatant signs he’d ever seen that Qui-Gon was discomfited.  When he brought his attention around, he was surprised to see Xanatos toss him a smile before bowing slightly to Qui-Gon and moving away to speak with someone else.  Anakin watched Qui-Gon watching Xanatos until the Senator was out of earshot.  Then he leaned close to his master.

“Are you all right?” he asked very quietly.

Qui-Gon shot him a glare that softened immediately into a half-smile.  “Yes,” he answered just as quietly.  “I thought I was prepared…”  His voice trailed off, and he looked back after Xanatos.

After years of reading Qui-Gon’s expressions, and even more importantly, reading his emotions in the Force, guarded as they were, Anakin was not surprised to see the lingering pain in Qui-Gon as he watched Xanatos work the room.

What he hadn’t expected was the muted, but still very deep, love.

It was because of that love that, when Xanatos sent a message asking to speak with him several days later, Anakin met him at a small, discreet restaurant a short distance from the Temple.  From the lack of expression on the maitre de’s face, and the private room he was led to, Anakin had a feeling the place was known for meetings that ‘didn’t happen.’  Xanatos’ first words to him confirmed the impression.

“Thank you for meeting with me, Jedi Skywalker,” he said smoothly, no indication of anything other than sincere appreciation and a hint of anticipation visible in either his manner or the Force around him.

Anakin took a seat and looked at his host.  “As you requested, I’ve told no one of our meeting.  But I must admit I’m curious.  You know I will tell Master Qui-Gon that I’ve been here with you.  Why do you risk it?”

Xanatos shrugged, spreading his hands in an elegant gesture of helplessness.  “Because I have missed him, and he wouldn’t believe it.”

At Anakin’s narrow-eyed look, Xanatos continued, “I wasn’t meant to be a Jedi, and my failure as his Padawan showed that clearly.  But I spent several years as Qui-Gon’s student, and my failure wasn’t his fault.”

“I thought you hated him,” Anakin said.  “He thinks so, too.”

Xanatos sighed.  “He’s a good man, for many years he was my best friend, and when I heard he’d been badly injured on a mission, it forced me to re-evaluate my anger at the situation.  Qui-Gon fought hard for me, worked as hard as he could with me, and in the end, my path led elsewhere.  But in my heart, beneath the pain of our parting, is the truth that Qui-Gon is important to me.  The thought that I could have lost him without coming to peace with our parting was devastating.”

Looking deeply at him, Anakin could see he spoke the truth.  A great many of his suspicions disappeared at that point.  After all, Qui-Gon had done the same for him; had fought for him, had worked tirelessly to teach him, loved and supported him.  No doubt he’d done the same for Xanatos, and no matter how badly the end of their relationship had been, if Xanatos was anything like Anakin, there would still be gratitude and affection left in his heart.

He was silent as the waitstaff brought their meal, feeling Xanatos’ eyes on him as they waited.  Once they were alone, Anakin poked at the expensive steamed fish on his plate until it fell into little flaky pieces before he looked up to face Xanatos.

“I believe you,” he said firmly.  “Why did you want to speak with me?”

Xanatos looked relieved.  “Please tell me, how is he?  I read all I could in the publicly available files, but that’s mainly propaganda put out by the Council, and between the two of us, I don’t trust them further than I could throw them.  Well, except for Qui-Gon.”

Anakin could relate to that.  He unconsciously nodded agreement.

“So tell me, is he well?  Is he happy?”

They spent the next few hours discussing Qui-Gon Jinn, and bonding over the unique and wonderful man who’d been Master to them both.  When Anakin left, he promised to meet Xanatos again, and the meetings became a regular appointment whenever Xanatos was on Coruscant.

For reasons he never fully clarified, even to himself, Anakin never told Qui-Gon.  Perhaps because his master was already so careworn by the demands of the Council and Anakin didn’t want to add to his burden of worries; perhaps because it was such a relief to have someone to whom he could freely complain about the Council’s failings; perhaps because he was, at heart, exceptionally lonely with Obi-Wan away and Qui-Gon busy elsewhere.

He’d never made connections with the other padawans his age, preferring Qui-Gon’s company; never even saw Padme anymore, and when he did, it was almost always when she was working as Queen or Senator, stiff and formal and distant.  Whatever the reason, or combination of reasons, might be, the next few years saw many clandestine meetings between the current Padawan and the failed Padawan.

He never noticed the darkness weaving so delicately through him until it was as much a part of him as his blue eyes.  So well-crafted was his conversion, even the Council, on high alert for just such an occurrence, missed it completely.

So on the day, four years later, when he was Knighted, his first thoughts were for Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan; pride in his accomplishment and Qui-Gon’s vindication, and missing Obi-Wan who was, as always, out on a mission and couldn’t be there for his knighting.

His second thought was for Xanatos.

And when Obi-Wan was brought in, yet again, just long enough to be regenerated in the bacta tank before being thrown back out into the field, and when Qui-Gon lost one too many arguments with the Council so that Anakin lost his first prime solo mission simply, as he saw it, because the rest of the Council didn’t trust him, it was the work of an instant to agree to join Xanatos in… finding a better way.

 

It felt like a lifetime since he’d last been on Coruscant.

Since being knighted, Obi-Wan had spent nearly ten years on constant active duty without a break.  He was worn to the nub, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it.  There was a war on, and horrific as it was to contemplate, in his heart, Obi-Wan had the sinking suspicion the Republic, and specifically the Jedi, were losing.

The fact that he’d been granted the position of Master due to his accomplishments barely penetrated his fog of exhaustion.  He didn’t even think to comm. Qui-Gon and Anakin with the news.

Finishing his report on his latest mission, for once not requiring the use of bacta tanks or a prolonged visit with the healers, Obi-Wan forced himself to walk and not drag his feet on his way to his quarters.  He was so tired he literally couldn’t see straight.

Which might explain why he walked into Anakin and nearly knocked him over.

“Obi-Wan!” Anakin exclaimed happily, wrapping his hands around Obi-Wan’s forearms to keep him from falling on his face.  “I didn’t know you were back!”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan returned the affectionate greeting, trying to ignore the slur in his words.  Even his tongue was tired.  “When was the last time we were both home at the same time?  A couple years ago?  And when did you get so tall?”

Anakin laughed, then sobered when he saw just how tired Obi-Wan was.  “This is insane,” he said abruptly.  “You’re so exhausted you can barely stand up.  When was the last time you had any rest?”

Obi-Wan seriously thought about it, but couldn’t come up with an answer.  His brain was also numb with fatigue.  “Too long,” he finally said.

“That’s it,” Anakin told him, hauling him firmly down the hall toward very familiar quarters.  “You’re going to sleep, then I’m going to feed you, and you’re going to spend the night with me and Master Qui-Gon.  No more reports, no more mission prep, no more sparring, just you, and a bed, and as much sleep as you can handle.”

“Not sure you want me dead on your hands for the next ten-day,” Obi-Wan mumbled.

It was the last thing he said before he fell, face-down, across Anakin’s bed, never feeling Anakin pull off his boots or rearrange him on the blankets or sit, quietly staring down at him, for a very long time.

The next afternoon he finally surfaced, feeling better than he had in a very long time.  With his new-found energy, he wandered down to the salle.  Anakin was already there, going through one of the most advanced solitary katas, and Obi-Wan grinned at him.  Anakin moved like he was born with a lightsaber in his hands.

When he came to a rest, Obi-Wan asked, “Want to try that with a partner?”

The next hour was one of the most enjoyable he’d spent in longer than he could remember.  Anakin used a fascinating mixture of fighting styles, Qui-Gon’s imprint over them, working well with his height and expanded reach, but with an acrobatic element that was unique to Anakin.  Obi-Wan was pushed to keep up with him, and thoroughly reveled in the stretch.  When they finally came to a halt, Obi-Wan won the match, but it was a hard-fought win.

Anakin grinned up at him from his place sprawled on the mat.  “Are you hungry?” he panted.

“Very,” Obi-Wan answered, somewhat surprised.  It had been awhile since he’d worked up an appetite having fun rather than fighting or negotiating or running for his life.  He’d forgotten how much he missed it.

Anakin slung an arm over his shoulder and steered him back to Qui-Gon’s quarters.  “On to lunch then.  I won’t subject you to the commissary.  I’ll cook.”

“Want a hand with that?”

He did, and they had a good time reconnecting over chopping greens and sautéing yoppa root.  By the time Qui-Gon escaped the Council and joined them, the table was set and the food was ready to go.

“Obi-Wan!”  Qui-Gon greeted him with a hug and looked quietly happy to see him.

Obi-Wan was distressed by how his master had aged in the time he’d been gone; stress sat heavily on his shoulders, carved into the lines at the corners of his eyes and the streaks of white in his hair.  But he still held himself straight, still moved gracefully, still exuded dignity.  Anakin glanced over at him and Obi-Wan read the same concerns in the younger man’s eyes.  Unfortunately there wasn’t a blessed thing either one could do to help, so Obi-Wan did what he could do.

He distracted.  By telling stories and encouraging Qui-Gon to vent some of his frustration and urging Anakin on to tell his own tall tales.  At one point in the conversation Obi-Wan delicately brought the conversation around to Xanatos.

“Perhaps it is my own judgment clouded by experience,” Qui-Gon said, frowning, “but I feel like he’s up to something.”

“Anything you can pin down?”  Obi-Wan asked.  He glanced over at Anakin, but Anakin was too busy eating to speak.  Obi-Wan grinned briefly, then looked back at Qui-Gon.  Growing boys.  ‘Though if Anakin grew much more he’d be even taller than Qui-Gon.

“Nothing I can put my finger on,” Qui-Gon said slowly, pushing his food around on his plate.  Obi-Wan couldn’t tell by his expression if he was relieved or worried by the fact that Xanatos was so carefully covering his tracks.

Not wanting to worry Qui-Gon further, Obi-Wan changed the subject to his bout with Anakin that afternoon, and they left the prickly topic of Xanatos and his possible new perfidy for another day.

It was late by the time they retired, but Obi-Wan could see a definite relaxation in Qui-Gon’s face and in Anakin’s shoulders.  It was enough.

It had to be.

Before dawn, the signal on his comm. unit sounded.  Another mission; another leave cut short.  At least he’d had the day with his friends.  He would take what he could get.

Anakin met him at the door as he headed out.

“Already?” he asked, disappointed.

“I’m afraid so,” Obi-Wan answered quietly.  He inclined his head toward Qui-Gon’s bedroom.  “Still asleep?”

“No,” came Qui-Gon’s answer through the door.

Obi-Wan shared a smile with Anakin then poked his head through the door.  Qui-Gon sat up in bed, smiling at him through the dim light.  “I see you have to go.  So soon.”

“As the Council wills,” Obi-Wan quipped.

“Not this member,” Qui-Gon griped, then quickly shed his irritation with a shake of his head.  “Be safe, Obi-Wan.  May the Force be with you.”

“And with you, my Master,” Obi-Wan answered gently.  Then he turned and left the room, giving Anakin a quick one-armed hug on the way out the door.

He didn’t see the affectionate blue eyes watching him as he left.  Didn’t notice the ring of yellow fire that showed, for a heartbeat, deep in those eyes, as the affection tipped into lust.

Never knew he left a serpent in the heart of the Temple.

Xanatos had pushed for a grandiose gesture; the utter destruction of the Jedi Temple on Coruscant.  When Maul pointed out this would mean Qui-Gon Jinn’s death, Xanatos was quick to rebut with a plan to abduct the Jedi Master and keep him from the mass murder of his brethren.

Maul had a better idea.

With their apprentice’s willing participation, Master Jinn was given one final outworld mission.  The Hutts were causing problems out in the Rim, and the Council wouldn’t allow young Knight Skywalker to take on the mission as a solo operative, but they were willing to sent Master Jinn out to supervise his efforts.

It was a milk run, of a sort, since the Hutts wouldn’t directly challenge the Jedi in the open.  Skywalker could use the opportunity to visit his mother, and Jinn would be out of the Council’s way while they dealt with the increasingly worrying ascent of Senator Xanatos to a position of power second only to the Chancellor in the Galactic Senate.  The only reason they hadn’t acted before was to spare Jinn the pain of seeing his former apprentice targeted by the Order… and to spare themselves the argument with Master Jinn.

None of them, not even Yoda, felt the manipulation of the Force that ensured they would agree to the assignment of the mission.

Two nights into the journey, their apprentice and Xanatos’ pet Jedi master safe from harm, Lord Maul led the Separatist army of clones in a direct assault on the Coruscant Temple.

It wasn’t as risky a move as one might think.  Over the course of the past few years the Sith had worked rapidly, fomenting unrest in the furthest reaches of the galaxy, forcing the Jedi to spread their most able fighters thinly on the front.  Obi-Wan Kenobi, Maul’s own pet Jedi knight, was himself far from the epicenter of destruction, calming unrest to the best of his formidable ability on Thisspia, not realizing the crisis was manufactured specifically to get him out of the way.

The precipitating event, carefully coordinated with the Kaminoan traders and the clone commanders, was a special delivery to the Temple Council chamber as the Masters met to discuss the nearly overwhelming Separatist threat.  Ki-Adi-Mundi accepted the packet of documents from the special courier, scanned them, and determined through the Force that they contained no threat.

It was his last mistake.

Rather than the intelligence reports they’d been expecting, the data sheets were coated with a micro-thin ultra-high explosive.  Shaak Ti took the top sheet from the stack, and as she separated the filaments between the sheets caught fire, triggering an incredible release of energy

A flash erupted.

No one heard Yoda’s agonized cry of “WAIT!”

Too late.

In an instant, the central column and core of the Coruscant Temple were completely destroyed.  Light years away, in transit, Qui-Gon Jinn woke from a nap with a jolt of pain as his master and several hundred other Jedi abruptly became one with the Force.  In the cabin next to his, Anakin Skywalker, known to his shadow masters as Darth Vader, smiled.

The clone army marched in.

The assault had begun.

The remaining Jedi were an exhilarating challenge, and one Maul relished.  Xanatos led the flanking attack, in heavy disguise.  The clones spread through the buildings like a plague, slaughtering Knight and Padawan and crècheling alike.  Maul confined himself to strategy and those Masters still left alive.

It was over all too soon.  Xanatos met him in the center of the Temple complex, clones falling into ranks behind the two commanders.  Maul gave him an inquiring look.  Xanatos nodded confirmation.  Without a word, the Sith Lords turned and exited the Temple, leaving it awash with blood, no life left in the carnage.

The next morning, Senator Xanatos was one of several who rose in sympathy and solidarity with the scattered remains of the decimated Jedi order.  While there were some Temples still active on various worlds throughout the Republic, they were in disarray given the sheer number of senior knights and masters killed in the attack, including nearly the entire Council.  Given the lack of security and the impending threat of the Separatist movement, it was simplicity itself to convince the Galactic Senate to accept the help of the Outer Worlds Federation in securing the Rim worlds, leaving the Republican forces to protect the Inner Worlds.

All of which paved the way for the rise of the Empire in the Outer Rim and Separatist sectors.  The Republic never saw it coming.

 

“Turn the ship around,” Qui-Gon ordered the pilot.  “We are returning home.”  He accepted the pilot’s nod of acknowledgement and turned to find Anakin waiting for him in the hatch leading to his quarters.

“Master,” Anakin said shakily, “there is news from Coruscant.”

Qui-Gon followed Anakin into the small room and settled down in front of the vid-screen.  As the hours flew past on their return trip, he stared blankly at the newsfeed, unblinking eyes fixed on the shattered remains of the Temple that had been the heart of the Jedi Order.  He watched as Xanatos shed tears on the floor of the Galactic Senate and put forth the motion that stripped the surviving Jedi of their Republican duties.  And he held onto Anakin as Anakin held him, and wept for the death of dreams.

Then, when there were no tears left, he stepped off the ship at the port in Coruscant, and got back to work.

At his side, Anakin said nothing.  But when Qui-Gon faltered, it was Anakin’s strong arm on which he leaned.

As the days went by, and the situation grew worse, he leaned more often than not.  Anakin never complained.

And when Xanatos came to Qui-Gon and offered his sympathy, Qui-Gon stared into the dark eyes looking back, and found he had no words to answer.  So he said nothing, and when Xanatos left, Qui-Gon stared over the Temple ruins visible from his Senate-adjunct chambers, with eyes bright with tears he would no longer shed.

Four days later, Obi-Wan made it back to Coruscant.

He walked into the chambers the Senate had given the remnants of the Jedi and stopped, staring in horror at the bombed-out remains of the Temple in the near distance.  Qui-Gon turned to him and held out his hands.

Obi-Wan ignored them and walked directly into his arms.

They held one another for a long time before a third set of arms wrapped as far as they could around both of them.  No one spoke, for there was nothing to be said.  The tragedy was too deep for words.

They could only act.

Together, Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon faced the devastation thrust upon them, and did what they could to keep the Republic from falling apart.

While beside them, Anakin watched.

Eight months later, Obi-Wan sported a vastly different appearance.  Beard wild, hair tangled, clothes barely more than rags, he crept through the back alleys of Mos Espa.  Tattooine was much different than it had been when they rescued Anakin many years before.  The Empire had crushed the Hutts and imposed their own brand of order on the Outer Rim world.  It was chilling to walk through the streets that had once teemed with chaotic life and see nothing but civilians, terrified into obedience, observation drones, and clone enforcers.

It was also like picking his way through a life-sized hive of stinging insects, naked and barefoot.  He had to be extremely careful and he still might get stung.

Still, the information gathered on his trip would be valuable.  Moving like the ghost he was now nicknamed, Obi-Wan made his way to his cloaked ship, lying outside the city borders in a sheltered dune.  He was nearly to the outbuildings when he felt it.

That touch.

In his mind.

The same touch he’d felt on Naboo.  It skittered over the surface of his thoughts, looking for a way in, searching for an opening.  He slammed his mental shields even more tightly down than they’d been and instinctively crouched in the darkly shadowed alley, hiding behind a pile of broken crates.

When the Sith’s seeking touch couldn’t penetrate his mind, it contented itself with tormenting him.  Invisible fingers roamed beneath his rags, making him shudder as his skin was caressed, as they combed through his hair and stroked down his back and up his legs.  His fists clenched in helpless denial as the touch moved over his body until he finally worked up enough strength to expel the unwanted intruder from him, physically feeling the removal in the Force around him.

Not until after he’d responded, unfortunately.  Not until the Sith had known, and celebrated, in Obi-Wan’s momentary weakness.

Obi-Wan ignored the dampness in his trousers fiercely and concentrated with all his will on his escape.  He had a mission to complete.

He’d worry about the Sith’s propensity for Force-rape later.

Maybe.

Or maybe he’d do as he always did, and lock it tightly in the corner of his mind reserved for things into which he couldn’t delve too deeply, for fear of what he might find in himself.

 

Two years passed, and the Sith had accomplished what they’d originally sought… but at a price.  Chancellor Valorum gathered his most trusted and powerful advisors together for a strategy session.  The Empire, with its shadowy leader, had consolidated power in the Outer Rim, driving the Federation into retreat.  It also controlled the previously-Separatist sectors, knifing deep into Republic territory in some parts of the galaxy.  Each day the threat to the Republic grew, but so far the Republic had fought the Empire to a stalemate.

In his private moments of amusement, Anakin thought of himself as a microcosm of the galactic conflict now ongoing.  Sith masquerading as Jedi, as the Jedi Republic fought the Sith Empire.

Unfortunately, perhaps, their determination not to kill Qui-Gon Jinn and Obi-Wan Kenobi had proven to be the stumbling block to their total victory.  Qui-Gon, without the Council to hold him back, proved to be a strategic genius, and his old friend Valorum relied heavily on him to guide the Republican fleet and armies.  Obi-Wan, to Anakin’s shock, turned out to be a chameleon, slipping into and out of Imperial worlds and bringing back the most amazing information, allowing the Republic leadership to outfox the Emperor at his best.

Even having Xanatos and Anakin both in the heart of the Republic hadn’t helped.  Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan were simply too good.

Still, he wouldn’t have either of them die.  Neither would Xanatos.

And Maul was determined that Obi-Wan was his.  Which might explain a few of the hair-raising escapes Obi-Wan had made, not that Obi-Wan needed much help.

Anakin stared down at the holographic deployment grid in the center of the War Room and watched Xanatos from the corner of his eye.  Xanatos, in turn, watched Qui-Gon.  Qui-Gon watched Obi-Wan, as Obi-Wan briefed the group on his most recent mission among the Rim planets, gathering intelligence behind enemy lines.

Still, they were locked in a no-win situation, and at this point, it was becoming a war of attrition on both sides.  While the Sith were quite willing to win such a war, they didn’t have the stockpile of materials the Republic had; the Republic wasn’t willing to sacrifice so many civilians.  So they stood, staring one another in the eye, each unable to defeat the other, neither side willing to submit.

“It’s the only hope we have.”  Obi-Wan sounded tired but resolute.

Anakin brought his attention back to the briefing in time to see every advisor in the room, including Xanatos and Qui-Gon, looking at Obi-Wan as if he’d lost his mind.

“Peace talks?” Valorum squawked.

“With the SITH?!”  Qui-Gon was slightly calmer but his voice had a distressed note in it.

“Are you serious?” Xanatos asked.

“If we don’t,” Obi-Wan looked at each in turn, “there will be neither a Republic nor an Empire left to save.  We are at the point of mutually assured destruction.  We must either come to an understanding, or face the fact that all will be lost.  On both sides.”

Babble broke out in the chamber as the advisors weighed in on the unbelievable recommendation.  Anakin watched as Qui-Gon approached Obi-Wan, hand resting on Obi-Wan’s shoulder, a gesture of support Obi-Wan appeared to sincerely appreciate.

“Well, this is unexpected,” Xanatos said softly in Anakin’s ear.

“Before he became the Ghost, he was the Negotiator,” Anakin reminded him.

“Hm,” Xanatos murmured, a speculative look in his eyes, quickly masked.  Anakin could feel his anticipation thrumming in his Dark connection to the Force.

Several hours later, the War Council agreed with Obi-Wan’s assessment, and sent word to the Emperor.  Senator Xanatos was the primary author of the proposal.  He used most of Obi-Wan’s recommendations, with a twist of his own.

Two days later, the Emperor answered.

Anakin stood in the back of the Jedi box in the Galactic Senate as the hologram of the Emperor took shape before the assembled Senate.  Even knowing whom he saw, it was difficult to make out Maul’s face in the enveloping black shadows of his cloak.

Beside him, Obi-Wan jerked minutely, then held himself very still.  Anakin gave him a look, but Obi-Wan shook his head.

“It’s nothing,” he whispered, staring intently at the hologram.

Anakin let it slide and turned to listen to his other master speak.

“I accept your proposal.  We will meet on the neutral planet of Geonosis in three days time.  As per your offer, I and my Prime will represent the Empire, and I will accept Jedi Master Kenobi and Knight Skywalker for the Republic.  The presence of any others at the meeting will be considered a betrayal of this truce and the agreement will be reneged.”

With a snap, the image disappeared.  Anakin took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

Either it was now all over, or it had finally begun.

 

The next evening, Senator Xanatos went missing.  Qui-Gon didn’t notice, too busy with monitoring the truce mission and worrying about his other two former apprentices.  Both the ship and the Jedi were outfitted with transmitters to send back visual, audio and locator signals.

As soon as they passed into Geonosian space, visual signals died.

When they reached the main Arena on the planetary surface, the audio signals were jammed.

The only thing stopping Qui-Gon from going on his own rescue mission immediately was the fact that the locator emitters showed no signs of jamming or tampering.  Built into the emitter was a code red for emergencies.  It still showed as functioning normally, and it wasn’t triggered.

He’d still feel a lot better if he wasn’t blind and deaf to what was going on at the truce meeting.

Letting his worries flow into the Force, he was surprised and reassured by the calm feeling that settled over him.  Somehow, he knew his Obi-Wan and Anakin would be all right.  The Force felt oddly muffled, as if a grey mist flowed through it, but it wasn’t a threatening impression.  Quite the opposite.

Peace settled on his spirit and he gave his fear up to the keeping of the Force.  Whatever would be, would be, at the will of the Force.

And if anything did happen to Obi-Wan or Anakin, he’d personally hunt the Emperor down and kill him.

 

Obi-Wan hadn’t wanted to return to Geonosis.  It had been nearly a year since he’d last been there, and he still hadn’t examined his experience from that time.  It was too fresh, and too disturbing.  The shudder-inducing touch hadn’t stopped at his skin, that time.  It very nearly broke into his mind, filling him with hazy images of heat and sweat and red-black patterned skin unexpectedly soft beneath his fingertips… He broke off that train of thought quickly.  To remember was to invite weakness in his shields, and this was not the time for such a breach in his defenses.

Still, the truce had been his idea, and the fact that the Sith Emperor had named him as an acceptable Republican representative wasn’t surprising.  They had unfinished business, he and the Sith.  For while the others hadn’t recognized the Emperor, this was the first direct hologram Obi-Wan had seen of him, and it was clear to him exactly who the Emperor was.

The Iridonian Zabrak he’d fought on Naboo.

The Sith weren’t supporting the Empire.  They WERE the Empire.

He hadn’t said anything to anyone, because Qui-Gon would have protested his taking this mission if he had, and he had no wish to add to Qui-Gon’s burdens.  He could handle this.  And it wasn’t as if he’d be alone.  Anakin would be with him.

Once they arrived on-planet, he tried to contact the War Council.  As soon as the connection was made he knew they would have a problem.  The small vid-screen held nothing but static, although Qui-Gon’s voice came through clearly.

“I don’t like this,” Qui-Gon said.

Neither do I, Obi-Wan thought, but what he said was, “It’s to be expected, Master.  Our audio connection is still clear, and I sense no attempt to sabotage the meeting.  The Sith work in darkness, and are nearly paranoid in their secrecy.  It’s not surprising they don’t want you to see what they look like.”

He tried to inject some humor to lighten the situation.  Anakin grinned at him in response, but Qui-Gon merely grumbled.

“Watch your back.  If you sense any hint of a trap, get out of there with all haste.”

Qui-Gon must be worried if he was instructing the obvious.  Obi-Wan lifted a brow at Anakin, who shook his head in exasperation in response.  “Yes, Qui-Gon,” Obi-Wan answered gently.

“May the Force be with you both.”  Qui-Gon’s frustration at his inability to be there with them came through clearly.

“And with you, Master,” Anakin replied.

“And with you,” Obi-Wan ended the transmission.

“So,” he said to Anakin, tucking the portable comm. unit into his belt pouch.  “Onto the Arena.”

“Yippee,” Anakin said dryly, and took his place at Obi-Wan’s back as they entered enemy territory.

They met no resistance as they walked the kilometer or so to the Arena.  Clones stood guard but made no hostile move toward them.  Obi-Wan felt very exposed in his formal Jedi robes, white and brown against the orange dirt and brick buildings, with the white-armored clones watching them as he and Anakin walked into the Arena entryway.

A Koorivar met them, his dark netted clothing looking out of place in the arid desert surroundings.  He bowed respectfully and addressed Obi-Wan.  “If the esteemed Jedi will please follow me.”

Obi-Wan glanced over at Anakin, who had his lips pressed tightly together in a way Obi-Wan recognized as trying to stifle a grin.  The edge of Obi-Wan’s mouth curled in the beginning of his own smile.  Since when had the Sith esteemed the Jedi?  Still, it was a promising beginning.  Even if it was an outright lie.

They followed the being into a larger chamber on the mid-level of the Arena.  It opened onto the huge pit, where the natives held gladiator-type competitions, fights to the death for those condemned to them, too desperate to find another way to survive, or those seeking death.  The parallels to their political situation were uncanny.

It was a starkly beautiful view, and Obi-Wan stared at it for a moment, until footsteps from the side entrance drew his attention.  He turned to meet the Sith representative, and gasped before he could stop himself.

So this was what Xanatos had been up to.

Obi-Wan’s hand went to the hilt of his lightsaber.  Xanatos raised both hands palms-out to show his benign intent.

“It wouldn’t get the peace talks off to a very good start if you tried to kill the Empire’s representative before we could even exchange greetings, Obi-Wan,” he said smoothly, a hint of humor underlying his voice.

Obi-Wan took a deep breath and slowly pulled his fingers away from his weapon.  As strong as the temptation was, it wouldn’t do well for the truce for him to slice Xanatos into very small pieces.  A faint buzzing from his belt pouch caught his attention and he looked down at his comm. unit.

“It’s jammed,” Xanatos offered helpfully.  “Your beacon is operational.  Should you feel at any time that you are in jeopardy you may, of course, activate it, and you may leave.  Know if you do, however, that there will not be any other chance at a truce.  So choose wisely, Obi-Wan.  Deal with us, or return to war until the Republic falls.”

“As will the Empire,” Obi-Wan said evenly, eyes locked with Xanatos’.

“Perhaps,” Xanatos said.  He smiled.  “A chance we will take.  But only if you walk away.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Obi-Wan growled.

Xanatos’ smile turned feral.  “I was hoping you’d say that.”

Closing his eyes for an instant to ground himself, Obi-Wan opened them again and stood upon his dignity.  For the sake of the Republic, all the civilians caught in the cross-fire, Qui-Gon and those Jedi who survived, he would do this.

“You know Knight Skywalker,” he said, waving Anakin forward.

Xanatos bowed, and Anakin returned it.  There was an unsettling feeling beginning to slither down Obi-Wan’s spine, but there were so many things wrong with this scenario he couldn’t be sure what was causing it.  Before another word could be exchanged, the door to the back of the room opened.

Obi-Wan felt him before he saw him.  The Sith Lord, clad in his black Imperial robes, swept silently into the room.  He wasn’t a big man, no taller than Obi-Wan and a hand span shorter than either Xanatos or Anakin, but his presence filled the air until Obi-Wan had a hard time catching his breath.  The Emperor stopped within touching distance of Obi-Wan.

“Maul,” Obi-Wan breathed.

“Obi-Wan,” Maul said, his voice nearly a purr.

Obi-Wan felt that voice like fingers against his skin, and clamped down hard on his instinctive response.  He couldn’t help licking his lips to ease their sudden dryness, however.  From the corner of his eye, he saw both Anakin and Xanatos shiver.

It was reassuring to know he wasn’t the only one Maul affected this way.  Pulling his thoughts back to the matter at hand, he said, “I thought you were dead.”  No need to mention that he’d recognized the hologram.

“I’m hard to kill.  As you know.”  The unearthly yellow eyes gleamed at him.  Obi-Wan fought another shiver.

“Sidious…”  Of course.  Obi-Wan shook his head.  “You killed him.”

Maul nodded.

The undercurrents in the room threatened to distract Obi-Wan.  It was as if they were having two conversations, one of words, one through the Force.  He could feel it, reaching out between the four of them, strongest between himself and Maul, but eddies swirled around them all; between Obi-Wan and Anakin, Anakin and Maul, Maul and Xanatos, Anakin and Xanatos, Xanatos and Obi-Wan… a web of connection from which he could derive no meaning.  Too many layers.  Too many truths unspoken.

Too much grey.

“Leave us,” Maul said, and for a moment Obi-Wan thought Maul meant him, until Xanatos politely gestured for Anakin to precede him out the door.

Anakin looked over at Obi-Wan, but he wasn’t asking permission.  Oddly enough, he seemed to be sending reassurance.  Obi-Wan watched him, puzzled but not calling him back, as he and Xanatos left the room, the door closing behind them.

There was a threat here, but it wasn’t to Anakin.  And it wasn’t from Xanatos.  It wasn’t a threat Obi-Wan recognized, but it weighed on him.

Until Maul reached out to him.

In a rush, the Force swept him up, moving him forward without a conscious decision.  His left hand reached out and was clasped tightly in Maul’s, caught between their bodies, the back of his hand resting against the steady beat of Maul’s heart in his chest, as Maul’s rested against his.  Obi-Wan’s free hand fell naturally to Maul’s waist, and he felt the heat of Maul’s hand against the small of his back, even through the layers of robes.  They were so close Obi-Wan could feel Maul’s breath against his lips.

An instant before Maul kissed him.

Lips and tongue worked together and Obi-Wan drowned.  Their fingers clenched around one another, holding them both upright as the intensity of the kiss deepened.  In his mind, he saw/felt/tasted/heard Maul, and knew nothing would ever be the same.

The hands he’d felt touching him through the Force in the past returned with a vengeance, only this time, they explored with his full participation.  He sent out his own questing touch, and Maul rumbled approval, hunger doubling in his kiss.

Touching, loving through the Force, they stood, only mouths and hands and thighs touching on the surface, but thought and emotion melding in the Force.  Penetrated and penetrating, caressing and accepting caresses, holding and held, an accord was reached that would never be broken.

From such an individual connection, peace would be born.

But in that moment, there was only completion.

A tiny voice of logic was shrieking in his brain, telling him this was insane, that he had to kill Maul or at least get a treaty then get the hell out of there.  That voice was overwhelmed by the whirl of physical and Force sensation telling him he was exactly where he was supposed to be.  He had been leading up to this moment since the first time the Sith held him on Naboo.

It was time to address unfinished business.

 

 

Watching through the observation wall, disguised to appear as rock, Xanatos and Anakin stood side by side.  Anakin’s mouth was slightly open and he had one hand spread against the wall as if he could absorb the erotic energy pouring off Obi-Wan and Maul.  Xanatos smirked at him, but kept his eyes on the pair kissing as if their lives depended on it in the next room.  Then he jolted and looked closer.

Now, THAT was unexpected.  “They’re mind-speaking!” he exclaimed.

“No,” Anakin corrected him, his voice hoarse and breathless, “they’re mind-fucking.”  He moaned.

Xanatos glanced over at him.  Oh.  No wonder Anakin was looking at them like a dog eyeing raw meat.  “You can hear them?”  Lucky bastard.

“Oh, yes,” Anakin sighed, then recoiled as if struck.

Smirk growing wider, Xanatos said, “Maul caught you looking.”

Anakin glowered at him.  “No.  Obi-Wan did.  And he smacked me!”

Xanatos couldn’t help himself.  He laughed out loud.  This treaty negotiation was going to be the most fun he’d had in a long time.  And when it was over… he was going to Coruscant.

Qui-Gon waited, and Xanatos had his own Sith-Jedi alliance to negotiate.  He was looking forward to it.

_FIN_

 mutual assured destruction NOUN: Severe, unavoidable reciprocal damage that superpowers are likely to inflict on each other or their allies in a nuclear war, conceived as the heart of a doctrine of nuclear deterrence. (The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language: Fourth ed. c. 2000.)

 


End file.
